


And Here We Are In Heaven

by SmackTheDevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Despair, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:58:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4963312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmackTheDevil/pseuds/SmackTheDevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An undisclosed disaster pushes Dean Winchester to the edge but his constant, his younger brother Sam, is there to make everything better again in a way neither had ever imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Here We Are In Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Before reading, open Etta James - At Last in another tab. Play at the line 'The intro was long enough.' and hopefully you will cry! (Emotional music optional)

The library in the bunker was quiet and dimly lit. A contrast to the noise and chaos The Winchesters' had just dragged themselves out of.

Dean was nursing a painful split lip and most probably a cracked rib or two. His brother Sam, a gash across his left eyebrow and sore, shredded hands.  
Not quite ready to 'sew themselves up' they sat opposite one another. A bottle of whisky between them and a glass each, pouring finger after finger and downing each shot like it was sweet apple juice. Silent was what they both needed to be. There was no need for words. No need to blacken the air around them with talk of events they would rather forget. Their eyes saying 'I can't. Not yet.'

Half an hour of silence passed. Sam glanced down at his bloodied hands and made a fist with both. The wounds had started to heal, but the stretching of his skin opened them again and he began to bleed.

“It's like us.” He said softly. “We never get the chance to heal.” He brought his left hand to his mouth and sucked his knuckles.

“Hunters' curse.” Dean gritted his teeth as he hit another shot of whisky.

“Winchesters' curse.”

“Yeah.” Dean laughed softly, he paused as he lifted the whisky bottle, looked at his brother and then poured himself a double.

Sam simply nodded and held out his glass.

Together, they had never looked so beat. They had never looked quite this close to giving up. To emptying that trunk of weapons and burying them in the ground. To packing their bags and just driving so far away from everything that was evil, and cruel and corrupt. To hiding away from a world and beyond that had thrown its worst at them, only for them to forgive it, time and time again.

Sam thought deeply about how he wanted to stay where he was forever and watch his brother. He wanted to say a million things. Things he had said before a million times. But why should he waste his breath again. Instead, he decided to just let time pass.

And it did, in utter silence. Only breathing could be heard and every so often their medicinal whisky pouring into their glasses. Until finally, the bottle, empty making a hollow thud on the table as Dean set it down.

Sam watched his brother carefully, ready to drink in his last shot, but he paused, the glass was held shakily against his bottom lip. And then he broke down. Dean clutched the glass against his chest and sobbed. Sam hated watching his brother cry. He pushed himself away from the table and went round to him, pulled him up from the chair, relieved him of the glass and then pulled him in. Deans' body sank against his brothers. His tears soaking into Sams' plaid shirt.  
Sam took in a deep breath, he needed to be strong for his big brother, Dean winced as Sam tightened his grip around him, his ribs and entire body aching, both from injury and the utter bleakness they both faced.

“I've got you. I have always got you.” Sam whispered into Deans' hair as his brothers' knees buckled under him and they both dropped to the ground. “You fall, I fall.” Sam leant back and held Deans' bloody, tear-stained face in hands. “Please don't do this. Please.” Sams' heart was breaking as Dean became more distraught. His sobs deep and out of control. “Please, baby.” Dean blinked at him slowly. Sam had never called him that. Not even when they were horsing around.

“No.” Dean shook his head slowly. “Don't.” His voice was quiet.

Sam, still holding Deans' face rubbed both thumbs over his cheeks taking tears and blood with them.

“It's okay. Just please, please know you have me. Okay?”

Dean nodded then held onto his brother's wrists gently. He didn't move them, just gripped on, his own thumbs circling Sams' wrists, rubbing softly.

“I can't.” Deans hands flopped away from Sams' wrists, his head with them, his body shaking, his entire being consumed by tears and the most overwhelming feeling he had ever experienced. He didn't know what it was, but it made him want to scream.

Sam sat back, his butt on the back of his ankles. He placed a hand over his mouth and shook his head. He was at a loss and felt his eyes stinging with tears. He didn't want them, but he needed his brother to feel like he wasn't alone.  
The silence around them and Deans' incoherent sobs were beginning to send him crazy. He knew conversation was the last thing either of them needed. He looked around the room and then stopped as he eyes fell on the old record player gathering dust in the corner. He needed to break this hideous silence.  
He helped his brother up from the floor and sat him back in his chair. Dean remained slumped, the tears and sobs slowly dissipating, he was now utterly drained, his eyes zoned in on nothing. Empty. A man seemingly at the end of everything.  
Quietly, Sam walked over to the record player, Dean unaware he had even moved and thumbed through the small selection of ancient vinyl. He took his time, carefully thinking about every record he flipped past. Until finally, he found exactly what they needed. His belly flipped as he went over the lyrics in his head. He felt one single hot tear roll down his cheek, as he removed it from the sleeve, placed it gently on the turntable and then set the needle on to the deep groove at the start of the track.

The intro was long enough for Sam to move back toward Dean who was still silent and zoned-out in his chair. He wrapped his fingers around Deans' with tenderness and squeezed his hand softly encouraging him to stand. Sam slid his arms around Deans' waist and just held him against his body gently. No movement, just a hand stroking his back gently.  
Dean reacted slightly, his body gradually straightening and his arms sliding over his brother's shoulders. Sam could barely contain his feelings and bit his bottom lip so hard it broke the skin. And then Dean began to sway a little, Sam could do nothing except move with him. The soft strings and passionate vocals filling a room which only moments ago was filled with despair and loss and sadness.  
They both closed their eyes, their embrace becoming tighter and their bodies warmer. Safer. Dean buried his face in Sams' neck and instinctively inhaled softly. He was at utter peace. He felt a warmth inside him he had never known.  
Sam knew something positive had happened, as Deans' body became more responsive, his hands now roaming Sams' chest and sliding gingerly around his waist.

Sam looked up and stifled a meek gasp as Dean breathed over his neck, lips not kissing but brushing against his two-day-old stubble. Sam smelt of whisky, blood and home and Dean inhaled all of it.

“Sammy.” Dean was unusually soft and breathy as he spoke. “Sammy, my dear sweet Sammy.” His hands toyed with the back of Sam's shirt and then wandered over his bare flesh underneath. As if on cue, Sam reciprocated. Deans' skin felt warm and strangely soft. They pulled one another in closer and in sync, their cheeks rubbing together, thoughts of injuries a million miles away. Dean swallowed hard, he thought about how this is what heaven should be like. Not corrupt and evil but comforting and pure. He stole himself and pressed his slightly open mouth against Sams' cheek.  
Sam whimpered, unsure as to how he should respond. They both paused for a moment, their bodies locked together in a moment of bliss.

“I want to do it,” Dean whispered. 

“Then do it,” Sam replied softly but quickly.

And then they lost themselves in the deepest of kisses either of them had ever enjoyed. Their mouths were dry, open and they kissed as if they had been kissing one another forever. Dean, close to tears again, slid his hand up into Sams' hair, holding it loosely in his fist, his fingers massaging his head softly. Their kiss deepened even more, slow and intense and with so much more meaning than a simple kiss should be. It was comfort and love. It was a sense of knowing and understanding. It was a kiss that no one else could ever experience. It was because it was them.

The music had ended before they pulled away from one another.

“I need to sleep.” Dean took one step away from his brothers, arms releasing him. Sam felt a little saddened. “With you. I need to have you with me, in my bed. I need my constant, Sammy. Is that okay?”

Sam nodded.

“Of course. I'll dream with you.” Sam smiled and held out a hand. “My brother.”

Dean slid under Sams out-stretched arm and they walked arm in arm to bed. To sleep. To be safe. To be together.


End file.
